Wednesday, April 23, 2014

The Great Shower Debacle

For that last few years I have been sharing a bathroom with my girls, whilst my husband uses our upstairs deluxe shower, double sink, toilet with hurricane-five-rated-flusher for his own.

Sharing a bathroom with kids presents all the predictable challenges, my new bottle of shampoo is empty—but Ariel's hair sparkles... Every morning the floor of the tub slick with gobs of conditioner and sprinkled with plastic horses—of which all parts are pointy. The bar of soap is mashed into the drain.

Every morning I dash to the shower while the girls are eating breakfast, pick up the toys (when did the floor get so far away?) and toss them in the basket. The basket over-balances and toys and slimy water slide all over the bathroom floor. I pick up the toys (again with the floor being far away) and use one of their towels to mop up the water. Then mop a little farther to get this smudge and that smudge. After the floor is clean, (pretty much) I pull down the shower curtain, which is wrapped up around the bar, and turn on the shower. I dig my fingers into the soap bar and pry it off the floor, trying not to slip as my toes grasp for purchase, then I rinse off the slime from the drain.

I shower.

Good morning, babies.
It occurred to me recently that the girls are not babies anymore. They are older (nearly three and seven) and more sensible now, and they can even go up and down stairs...independently. I'll just get up fifteen minutes earlier and take a shower upstairs in the grown-up's shower, where a bottle of shampoo lasts about four months. So for the last three weeks or so, that's what I've been doing. Sometimes the girls wake up and can't find me, and panic shouting for me. Leaving me to shout back, “I'M IN THE SHOWER… UPSTAIRS. ALMOST DONE!!” (I discussed the change thoroughly, they're just disoriented in the mornings.) Sometimes they wake up early and come upstairs with me, sometimes they sleep through it all.

This particular morning they were awake…

We were all snugged in my bed awake—yes, exactly like a pack of dogs, mmm-hmmm. Then about ten minutes later my alarm sounds. I get out of bed and tell the girls I'm headed up for a shower. I start rooting in my underwear drawer while Boots, garbed in a blanket, slides out the door. Berzo insists on having her warm cocoa first. For reasons too tedious to explain I refuse and tell her that I'll make it for her after my shower. She leaves the room also garbed in a blanket and kicks the our cat, Rogue, out of her cat bed and lays in the cat bed, awaiting her coco. Boots is up at the top of the stairs, on the landing, playing with her Furreal dog. Bra and panties in hand, I step over Boots and get hung up in her blanket.

“I'm going in to take a shower, come in if you want…” I say as I disengage from her blanket.

Then I head into our ridiculously huge master bathroom, slide the door open, turn on the shower and step inside. Ahhhh. A little over five minutes later (seven maybe?) I step out and dry off, mopping the towel through my hair and I hear a familiar voice shout, “Amy!?”

“Tricia?!?” What the hell? I wrap up in my towel and go for the upstairs door just as my neighbor gets there. “Is everything OK? Is something wrong?” I blurt out, looking for my girls, who are just behind her with red rimmed eyes looking sheepish.

“Boots and Berzo were outside screaming and crying for you.”

“What?!?”

“Yeah, I was sleeping and heard something…”

Sure that something was wrong (e.g. me stroked out on the floor) she ran outside to see what was going on.

“I can't find my mom!” was the statement from the kid I tripped over to get into the shower. Tricia, remembering me telling her about the “I'M IN THE SHOWER!” yelling because they can't find me, she thought, I bet she's in the shower. Tricia brought my girls back inside and could hear the water running. She ran up the stairs and there I was dripping wet, wild eyed, wearing only my towel and my what-the-heck-is-going-on face.

She explained what happened… I apologized profusely for them waking her up and thanked her for rescuing our other neighbors from the same fate...

“That's my girls, humbling me a little more every day,” I said.

Now hanging on the inside of our front door, I diagrammed out a proper procedure for what they can do if they are unable to locate me.

I had been chastising myself lately for being remiss in teaching Boots how to use my phone to call 911, now I'm glad. Instead of my good friend and neighbor, Tricia, it might have been a troop of fireman at my upstairs door… whilst I dripped in my towel.

Hummm, on second thought...

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