Post-Dinner Time, also known as Threat Level Midnight (Thank you, Michael Scott).

Bathtub has water running. Yell at Boy Child: “Get in the tub!”

Boy Child: “Okay!”

Rush to the kitchen to grab broom. Fuss at Wee One: “Tub!”

Wee One: Something that sounds like “Glue ball!”.

The Daddy: “What?”

Sweep kitchen. Five minutes of scraping leftover rice off the floor. One minute of chastisement for serving rice. No offspring in the tub.

Yell at fruit of my loins: “Get in the tub!”

Boy Child, annoyed: “Okay!”

Wee One: Something that sounds like “Cake snot!”

The Daddy: “What?”

Scour chairs and table with organic bullshit. Decide to actually clean with chemically concoction. Satisfied.

No children in tub. Frustration reaching Mount Saint Helen.

Step into living room.

Wee One jumps on The Daddy, showcasing a trinket.

Wee One: Something that sounds like: “Pink Trill!”

Boy Child: “Hey you, wanna fight?”

The Daddy Smiles.

Bath Time will wait.