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Rating: Somewhere between PG and PG-13, I think.
Disclaimer: Not my characters.
Author’s note: An answer to Bucket Brigade Challenge #1, over at the Let Jonathan Live Society forum. Thanks to Smallvillian for the edits, and to all the Bucket Brigaders and LJLSers who help inspire me. And, of course, to the always adorable Kent family.
Wet
Martha sat back on her heels and wiped sweat from her face with her arm. She’d definitely picked the worst possible day to weed the garden, but it had to get done, heat wave or no heat wave. She wished she’d volunteered to wash the truck, instead of having Jonathan and Clark do it. Just the sound of the water spraying in the background was refreshing.
All at once the sound was disrupted by a shout of “Clark!” and a torrent of high-pitched giggles. Martha looked around to see a dripping Jonathan wiping his face roughly with his hands. Clark had apparently gotten bored with squirting the truck and decided to turn the hose on Daddy. He was jumping up and down now, laughing like a pint-sized hyena.
Martha started to laugh too. She got up and strolled over to the two of them, flinching as Jonathan shook himself and sprayed droplets of water far and wide.
“Trying out the wet T-shirt look, are we?” She ran her eyes over him in a way that was barely appropriate in front of their three-year-old son. “Not bad.”
“Daddy wet,” Clark announced, with the smile of one satisfied with a job well done.
“Yeah,” Jonathan chuckled. “No kidding, you little stinker.”
Before either Martha or Clark realized what he was doing, he’d scooped up the child and was holding him right over the bucket of soap. Clark screeched with laughter, wriggling like a fish in his father’s grip. “Mommy!”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Jonathan growled, holding Clark well away from him to keep from getting a hole kicked in his stomach. “Mommy’s not gettin’ you out of this one, sport.” He started to lower the giggling little boy very slowly. “It’s Clark’s turn to get wet!”
A devilish idea popped into Martha’s mind. She snatched up the still running hose and blasted her husband full in the face with it. With a snort of surprise as the water hit him, he dropped Clark the remaining inch or two, to have him land in the bucket with a huge splash and a howl of laughter. Martha threw down the hose and backed away a couple of steps, difficult to do when she was bent almost double with laughter herself.
“Clark wet!” Their son clapped his hands gleefully, sending suds everywhere.
“Martha Kent!” Jonathan spluttered. “Oh, you are asking for it now, girl.”
“You know what they say,” Martha gasped. “A mother will do anything to protect her young.”
Jonathan was wiping the water from his face for the second time. “Well, I hope your young is worth it . . .” He bent to lift the soapy, delighted little boy from the bucket and set him on the ground. “’Cause now you’re gonna get it.”
Martha grabbed the hose again. “Oh, yeah?” she taunted, waving it threateningly in his direction. “I’d like to see you—”
Her words were choked off as, with one swift motion, Jonathan swept up the bucket of soap and turned it over her head. Martha dropped the hose, caught her breath, and then let out a shriek that could have been heard in Wichita.
“Oooh.” Clark’s eyes went wide. “Mommy really wet.”
Martha yanked the bucket off and flung it wildly. Jonathan ducked, but with soap and water blurring her vision, her aim was off, and the bucket clattered harmlessly to the ground. He quickly retreated, picking up Clark again and holding him tightly against his chest.
“Oh, hiding behind your son now?” Martha rolled her eyes. “That’s really brave.”
“You know what they say,” Jonathan reminded her. “A mother will—”
“I know, I know.” Martha brushed her wet hair out of her eyes and found herself laughing helplessly again. Her husband and son joined in, though still prudently keeping their distance.
“Well,” she finally sighed. “At least I’m not hot anymore.”
Jonathan eyed the soaked shirt that was clinging to her body. “Wanna bet?”
“All right, that does it!” Martha picked up the hose for the third time and advanced on her husband, who hastily put Clark down and fled for his life.
Left to his own devices, Clark sat down in the dirt and began to play with the shiny, colorful remnants of the soapsuds on the hard-packed ground. Another child might have been disappointed about being left out of the water fight, when he’d been the one to start all the fun. But Clark at three years old was already used to the idea that grownups do weird things. He was content simply to be soapy, muddy, and wet.
The End
Disclaimer: Not my characters.
Author’s note: An answer to Bucket Brigade Challenge #1, over at the Let Jonathan Live Society forum. Thanks to Smallvillian for the edits, and to all the Bucket Brigaders and LJLSers who help inspire me. And, of course, to the always adorable Kent family.
Wet
Martha sat back on her heels and wiped sweat from her face with her arm. She’d definitely picked the worst possible day to weed the garden, but it had to get done, heat wave or no heat wave. She wished she’d volunteered to wash the truck, instead of having Jonathan and Clark do it. Just the sound of the water spraying in the background was refreshing.
All at once the sound was disrupted by a shout of “Clark!” and a torrent of high-pitched giggles. Martha looked around to see a dripping Jonathan wiping his face roughly with his hands. Clark had apparently gotten bored with squirting the truck and decided to turn the hose on Daddy. He was jumping up and down now, laughing like a pint-sized hyena.
Martha started to laugh too. She got up and strolled over to the two of them, flinching as Jonathan shook himself and sprayed droplets of water far and wide.
“Trying out the wet T-shirt look, are we?” She ran her eyes over him in a way that was barely appropriate in front of their three-year-old son. “Not bad.”
“Daddy wet,” Clark announced, with the smile of one satisfied with a job well done.
“Yeah,” Jonathan chuckled. “No kidding, you little stinker.”
Before either Martha or Clark realized what he was doing, he’d scooped up the child and was holding him right over the bucket of soap. Clark screeched with laughter, wriggling like a fish in his father’s grip. “Mommy!”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Jonathan growled, holding Clark well away from him to keep from getting a hole kicked in his stomach. “Mommy’s not gettin’ you out of this one, sport.” He started to lower the giggling little boy very slowly. “It’s Clark’s turn to get wet!”
A devilish idea popped into Martha’s mind. She snatched up the still running hose and blasted her husband full in the face with it. With a snort of surprise as the water hit him, he dropped Clark the remaining inch or two, to have him land in the bucket with a huge splash and a howl of laughter. Martha threw down the hose and backed away a couple of steps, difficult to do when she was bent almost double with laughter herself.
“Clark wet!” Their son clapped his hands gleefully, sending suds everywhere.
“Martha Kent!” Jonathan spluttered. “Oh, you are asking for it now, girl.”
“You know what they say,” Martha gasped. “A mother will do anything to protect her young.”
Jonathan was wiping the water from his face for the second time. “Well, I hope your young is worth it . . .” He bent to lift the soapy, delighted little boy from the bucket and set him on the ground. “’Cause now you’re gonna get it.”
Martha grabbed the hose again. “Oh, yeah?” she taunted, waving it threateningly in his direction. “I’d like to see you—”
Her words were choked off as, with one swift motion, Jonathan swept up the bucket of soap and turned it over her head. Martha dropped the hose, caught her breath, and then let out a shriek that could have been heard in Wichita.
“Oooh.” Clark’s eyes went wide. “Mommy really wet.”
Martha yanked the bucket off and flung it wildly. Jonathan ducked, but with soap and water blurring her vision, her aim was off, and the bucket clattered harmlessly to the ground. He quickly retreated, picking up Clark again and holding him tightly against his chest.
“Oh, hiding behind your son now?” Martha rolled her eyes. “That’s really brave.”
“You know what they say,” Jonathan reminded her. “A mother will—”
“I know, I know.” Martha brushed her wet hair out of her eyes and found herself laughing helplessly again. Her husband and son joined in, though still prudently keeping their distance.
“Well,” she finally sighed. “At least I’m not hot anymore.”
Jonathan eyed the soaked shirt that was clinging to her body. “Wanna bet?”
“All right, that does it!” Martha picked up the hose for the third time and advanced on her husband, who hastily put Clark down and fled for his life.
Left to his own devices, Clark sat down in the dirt and began to play with the shiny, colorful remnants of the soapsuds on the hard-packed ground. Another child might have been disappointed about being left out of the water fight, when he’d been the one to start all the fun. But Clark at three years old was already used to the idea that grownups do weird things. He was content simply to be soapy, muddy, and wet.
The End
Such a sweet picture of family happiness. However, I hope they were washing the truck with Johnson's Baby Shampoo so Martha's eyes didn't sting from the bucket of soapy water poured over her head! 
Been having quite a few of those lately, in fact . . .
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