Sisters- Bath Time
The girls missed Mom. No matter how hard I tried, they longed for her. You could feel their anxiety when they thought she would be home and they would run to her as soon as she’d get there.
They had to learn to wait, because she was usually dirty and had to transition to cleaner home clothes, but why would she change clothes if she’s just going outside to tend to her yard and garden. Sometimes it would be hours before they could get a hug, even though she was right there.
It was my job to distract them, and redirect them. I knew probably 50 nursery rhymes off the top of my head to entertain them with anywhere we might be. I would sing with them. I read them books and put movies in on repeat (they ruined the Land Before Time for me).
They just wanted their mom. We would color and do crafts. We’d go for walks and explore. None of it was Mom.
What if we tried something different?
There was a long-standing expectation in our family that women should be able to do it all. There was no reason I shouldn’t be able to keep up with the house and keep my sisters happy. I was a disappointment. (I know, big shock). There was a lot of pressure to figure out how to do it all.
Bath time, which had once been so much fun, took on a new tone. Instead of the playful, helpful experience the girls had with both Mom and I, Mom was busy, and bath time was just my job now.
The girls were resistant, and I ran out of ways to entertain them. They were whiney, and wouldn’t let me wash them. They wouldn’t wash themselves.
I lathered up Sister A’s hair and tried to rinse it out. She was crying, and screaming, and thrashing. I was trying so hard to keep the water out of her face, but she wanted none of it. I wanted so badly to be done with it.
I tried coaxing. I tried giving her a washcloth to protect her eyes. I tried begging. I tried intimidating. Nothing was working.
My mom came through the door to the bathroom and it banged against the wall. She asked me what the f#@k the problem was.
I told her that Sister A wouldn’t let me wash her hair. She said “For Fucks Sake,” as she grabbed the shower head from me. Ours was on an extra long hose. She sprayed the water, full force, into my sisters face.
My sister gasped for air, and Mom handed the shower head back to me and asked “how fucking hard was that?”
“You’re bigger,” she scolded “just get it done.”
My sisters were terrified. Sister A let me rinse her hair while she gasped. We finished the bath and I got them to bed.
After that, I was afraid to have the girls cry and scream during bath time. I sprayed them both in the face many, many times. Mom had set the expectation.
Knowing I would spray them in the face didn’t stop them from wanting or needing Mom. It did make them distrust me, and created a power struggle.
Sometimes I really enjoyed it, especially if they had been particularly challenging. I’d start the bath and just wait for a reason to spray. It made me feel powerful and entitled. It made me feel like I would get Mom’s approval. I would also receive her disapproval if I wasn’t able to show my sisters who was boss.
My sisters were dysregulated, and in that dysregulation I waterboarded them. They were probably 3 and 4 years old at the time.
I was also responsible for handing out swats. I knew how many swats to give and for which offenses.
The grown ups would use me as their swatting agent, because they were tired and didn’t want to have to get up.
I did not perceive the waterboarding or the spanking to be abuse. The spanking was just “how we raise kids.” Mom had always felt that a parent needed to be creative in the moment to respond in ways that compel compliance and obedience.
I thought I was learning how to be a good mom. Everyone agreed that Mom was a good mom. She was the best mom. She even had the best kids because she was such a good mom.
Operation **Reclaim** Loveland 
What do you think?