Bedtime routine

This man is a mountain man. He likes to be sweaty and dirty. When he's not getting sweaty and dirty hiking the hills of Catalina Island, he's getting sweaty driving in his non-air-conditioned truck or sitting in a leather desk chair. In the evening, convincing Conrad to stop his programming or Diablo-ing and go take a shower, get ready for bed, and pay attention to me is much like wrangling a busy, willful child into the bath, I imagine.

He dawdles and argues. Then he complains. Then he reeeeeaalllly dawdles. He stands really close to the mirror, picking at this and that, inspecting the size and contents of his pores. All the while, I've finished my nightly routine of brushing, jammies, and flossing (ok, I lied; I certainly don't floss daily), and my hair is well on its way towards dryness.

I even turn on the shower for him so he doesn't have to wait for the water to heat up. When he finally makes his way to the shower, he stands in the heat for several minutes, and then uses too much shampoo for his buzzed head and too much shower gel on the loofa (yes, my husband loofas).


When he gets out of the shower, there's more dawdling and inspecting. Some nights I prepare his toothbrush, and in extreme situations, I've even swiped him with deodorant. 


Then there's the matter of dressing, tucking in, and praying. What might take normal people fifteen minutes to do takes Conrad an hour. He turns on the fan and stands in front of it, naked as a newborn, drying off. When his clothes have finally made their way onto his body, he gets in bed and we pillow talk for about ten minutes or until our eyelids become heavy and are set on closing. 


This boy is slow as pitch, but it's how I know he's enjoying life. In thirty years, I'll be glad to look back and remember that Conrad savored shower time. And life.