Benjamin is making progress on personal hygiene. That means he took a bath last night. Without help. I am exponentially happier about that than any of you parents are about the shower your teenager took this morning. Guaranteed. 

 

But he is struggling a bit with the finer points. Last week I asked if he had remembered to wash his hair.

 

Pause. "I forgot." 

 

A few days later I asked again when he came downstairs drippy.

 

"Yes." His hair seemed creamier than clean, and I went up to check for clues in the tub. The lid of the conditioner was off. The shampoo was untouched. 

 

"Benjamin, you need to use the bottle that says shampoo next time. OK?"

 

I looked at the bottles objectively. There was a surplus of information sprawling all over, front and back. Ingredients, promises of a better life, declarations of animal free testing, warnings against ingestion and basic directions outnumbered the simple word "shampoo" a hundred to one. I could see why he was overloaded and just grabbed the closest jar.

 

Occasionally John will ask a simple question and I give too much information. 

 

"What do you need from me today?"

 

"Well, the twins have a birthday party to go to so I am taking them there with the presents they wrapped last night, and the card I will get them to write in the car on the way. Zack has a lacrosse game, and I will watch him play after I pick up Ben. There is marriage group tonight and I think we could talk about the Five Languages of Apology. Can you come up with a hand out for that? Oh and your mother called and wants to know about the reunion. Which reminds me the light above the washing machine is out and it is hard to do laundry, but I can ask Zack to change it. He owes me some work for the bus ticket I bought for him last week."

 

He stares at me. 

 

"So what you want me to do is..."