Farewell Children, I’m Showering

Dear Children:

Since I’ve already said good night to each one of you during a process that takes, at best, close to two hours from start to completion, you probably already know that I’m currently in the shower (or, at the very least, sitting on the toilet playing with my phone while the shower runs). We had a great day, huh? We dressed your Barbies, played in the hose, and snuggled on the couch while watching just one more TV show. At bedtime, you told me about your worries, and we talked them out. Your sister fell asleep in my arms, right in the middle of her bedtime book. Precious. And you? Well, you’re the middle child, so I don’t quite recall what you did at bedtime, but it was cute, I know that much.

So, with peace and love, I say to each of you, my precious little angels:

Leave me the hell aloooooooooooooooooooone.

It’s shower time, meaning I’ve punched out for the day. I’m off the clock and all done Mom-ing until tomorrow morning (or realistically, until after I’ve fallen asleep in a few hours because I KNOW you’re going to come wake me up and tell me your legs are hurting or you threw up or something like that). Shower time is wonderful, and Mommy loves it very much. Not as much as she loves you, but close. Oh, so very close.

By User:Mattes (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia CommonsDo not come looking for me in the bathroom during shower time. I’ll pretend like I don’t hear you trying to turn the doorknob. If you do manage to get through my advanced bathroom security system of turn-and-push doorknobs and actually try to talk to me, I’ll pretend like I don’t know you.

Mommy keeps it 100 in the shower, sweetie.

Do not yell for me from your bedroom and expect me to respond. I do not hear you at all once I shut the bathroom door.  Unless you are bleeding or dying, I will not leave my shower to find out what you want. If you are bleeding or dying, I’ll automatically know because I’m your mother. But text me, just to make sure.

Upper management has insisted that I institute a Potty Usage Policy. This means you may enter the bathroom to quickly pee, wipe, and then (this part is key) LEAVE THE BATHROOM IMMEDIATELY. Do not flush the toilet, which seriously boggles my mind that I have to tell you this because the entire rest of the day you treat our indoor plumbing like you’re Laura Ingalls Wilder, livin’ on the prairie and doin’ yer business in a fancy outhouse. Do not try to chat me up, as I am busy thinking about which Avenger I like best and coming up with better comebacks that I should have used when that bitch Darcy tried to get cute with me at work.

She knows I sit in that chair every meeting.

Do not try to ask me questions through the bathroom door the second you hear the water stop. Shower time lasts from the moment I shut the door until the moment I emerge, clean and relaxed and ready to deal with being on-call for you and your sisters. If you try to infringe on my shower time via a technicality such as talking through the door but not technically opening it, I will technically find your favorite toy and poorly hide it underneath something else in plain sight, guaranteeing you will never find it.

Not following the shower rules will result in dire consequences, up to and including serving your morning cereal last, thereby guaranteeing its slight sogginess when you eat it and/or packing dumb stuff in your lunch like celery sticks or raisins (nature’s candy FUCK OFF WITH THAT SHIT THEY’RE DISGUSTING).

Okay, I think that about covers it. I can tell by your blank stare at the TV I let you watch at bedtime on the weekends and during the summer that you’ve been listening really closely. So, good talk! ILOVEYOUGOODNIIIIIIIIIIIGHT! See you in the morning!

(LOL JK see you in about four hours in my bed.)

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3 Responses to Farewell Children, I’m Showering

  1. Nikki Parry-Wulff says:

    aaah the heavenly fall of hot water over your body washing clean all the goo and icky-iness…. <3 showers are DA BOMB!

  2. Erin H. says:

    Whenever I manage to get a shower, I know I’m going to be jolted from my warm watery bliss with several blasts of icy cold air as the shower door is ripped open and my two-year-old yells, “What are you doing in there?!”, or “Mama, is that your butt?!”, or “It was an accident. Bye!” Sigh.

  3. Amen, amen, amen! I LOVE YOU! That’s all. xo

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