So… my youngest has just entered Bridgewater State College. My oh my, where have the years gone? At times like this I like to take stock of stories and memories, and invariably these stories spread from Suzy to also include Shaina and Zack as well.
I guess above all else I enjoyed reading to the kids… oh yes, and “spooking” them, too; but more of this latter activity a bit later.
Reading was a bedtime ritual. It always followed bath time and preceded “scritch” time (and I will have a few words on this, too). If I was home early enough I would draw tub detail. Of course it began with Zack. I would distract him during the scrubbing portion of the bath by singing a rather lengthy version of “There’s a Hole in the Bucket, Dear Liza” (Zack and I called this the “Henry” song, because it was Henry who was singing to Liza).
Singing to my kids while they were in the tub was as much a treat to me as it was to them… you see, little kids aren’t bothered by things like pitch, or being in tune. So I could sing to my heart’s content as I splashed and scrubbed. And sometimes I would vary my selection… if it wasn’t the “Henry” song, it would be the “Chicken” song… we had some chickens, no eggs would they lay…
Regardless, each song would be sung with total gusto and always out of key. A monotone would have been an improvement. If the kids knew how dreadful I sounded, they kept it to themselves.
As far as tubs go, Shaina was the most vexing. This was because she was very sensitive to shampoo in her face and eyes… even no-sting shampoo. This was not a situation unique to Shaina, which is why they created a soft rubber device (sorry, I can’t think of the specific name of this article) that we would put on Shaina’s head to keep the hair (loaded with offending shampoo) away from her face.
Somewhere there is a picture of Shaina wearing her “tub hat”. Luckily I have retained a good version in my mind’s eye and need no further confirmation to my memory.
The story time that followed bath time was a continuing treat. I would lay down next to each of the kids in turn and read a story. My favorite stories with Suzy came from the “Frances” series. I think that we had four or five, and my personal favorite was “Bread and Jam for Frances”. The stories were all well written and beautifully drawn. The artist used colour sparingly, preferring soft shading with charcoal.
The “Bread and Jam” tale dealt with being a picky eater. The fact that this became a favorite to read with Suzy is truly ironic, because as a young child, she was clearly the best eater of the three kids. Ellen was forever bemoaning what a fussy eater Shaina was… Ellen would pray, “why can’t I have a child that is a good eater?”
What can I say? God answered her prayers.
After stories, it was “scritch” time, or more accurately: “scritch, pat & rub” time. This practice began with Zack. This was a just-before-lights-out activity. Freshly bathed and powdered, read to… and now he would be on his stomach, pacifier in place and I would proceed with a good soothing scritch on his back. After a few seconds I would ask if he needed an additional scritch before moving on to “rubs.”
An encore scritch was always de rigeur. Then a deep and satisfying rub… and again a question whether a further rub was required… to which the answer would be an affirmative nod. Finally, I would move to some “pats”… not too hard; but definitely firm. And then there would be a secondary round by specific request.
“Scritches, Pats & Rubs” were supplied to each of the kids. And in turn, they each fashioned a new “flavour” to add to this ritual. Zack would develop “pounds”… think of the plodding steps of an elephant and you will get the idea of what was to transpire on the back.
For Shaina it was “polka dots”. This was simply taking an index finger and poking the back. This technique was terrific when employed after prepping the back with softening scritches, pats & rubs. After being lulled, I would give Shaina a barrage of polka dots and she would squirm like a fish on the deck.
Suzy liked “chops”… also best administered after several minutes of the “classic three” (sctitches, pats & rubs). I would begin “chopping” at the top of the back, using both hands and move my way down the spine and then back up again (Benihana chefs would be proud of my speed… as would any great pianist working up and down a Steinway).
Yes, I loved bath time, story time & scritch time… but there was also the dark side that I would savour. I loved “spooking” the kids… catching them off-guard, sneaking up on them and shrieking at them.
I don’t remember how I acquired the Creature-From-The-Green-Lagoon mask; but it was a hideous affair that zipped up the back and completely covered my head. It tucked convincingly into the collar of my shirt and gave the impression that I was merely your average amphibian in street dress.
I would put on this mask at random times. I would hide in their closets, or simply appear in the upstairs hall. Suzy would recall the times I would appear behind the shower curtain. Hey! I was an amphibian… where else would you expect to find me?
But in terms of shock value, nothing would give me greater joy or satisfaction than getting the kids up in the morning (a trial for each of them). First, I would have left the Keeshonden out for a spot of air and a whiz. The air would have been biting & our “Nordic” dogs reveled in the crisp cold morning… oh yes, feel the bracing cold… cold sent to the very edges of my finger tips.
Now, it was time to awaken the kids, snuggled under their covers, their skin delightfully warm to the touch. I approached their rooms with pure glee… armed with fingers of pure ice, I peel back their blankets and thrust my hands below their tops… seeking their bellies and backs.
They scream, they twist, “Oh No! Dad has a case of the cold hands!” That’s not just a case of the cold hands… it’s an all-star case of the cold hands! And I would laugh as Suzy or Shaina would try to stretch their nighties down to their toes against the unwelcome invasion to their sleep.
And Zack, too… it made no matter.
I had a powerful case of cold hands. And there was no defense. The attack was not to be denied.
And neither is my love for my children.