All I ask is for five minutes--ten tops--of uninterrupted luxury where I can lock the bathroom door and appreciate the bliss of indoor plumbing via a hot shower.
After the kids are safely deposited at school and Lillian is happily playing, I have my morning bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch (can I ever get enough?) And while I'm on the subject, WHO gave you permission to mess with the recipe Mr. General Mills? My first bowl out of the new box made me wince--was I developing a cold? The stuff tasted like cinnamon-toasted kleenex. I looked at the box and it proudly displayed--as if it was a good thing--"Now with 75% less sugar" Seventy-five percent?? Gosh, why stop there? I'll vouch for the resulting nastiness, if they were opting for less-sugar why didn't they just go cold turkey? I mean who on earth looks to CTC as a make-or-break issue on their sugar intake? I'm deeply disturbed by this infringement of my breakfast rights and will now have to note which kind I'm buying--assuming that the stooges didn't stop producing the good stuff altogether. Pardon my language. Cinnamon Toast Crunch is a special thing to me.
But I digress.
Kids are gone, I've had my beloved cereal, and have made sure Lillian is happily playing while I sneak up to get some Me Time in the shower. In the middle of my lather, rinse repeat sequence comes a *knock, knock, knock*.
"Hab hertiz klawuit gont malrab--"
"I can't hear you! Wait until I'm out of the shower--"
A pause, then "Backra pitol fud mackrow. MOM!!!"
Now I've made it perfectly clear (well perfectly clear on my end) that the Great Rule of Law in the home is Do NOT Bother Mom in The Shower Unless It's An Emergency! E-MER-GEN-CY--i.e. a toilet flooding, blood freely flowing, a fire, a stranger breaking through the door, a nuclear explosion, etc. So though I've been through this dress rehearsal inumerable times (or rather an un-dressed rehearsal) and know that I have better odds of the Publisher's Clearing House Van being on the other side of that door than it being a true emergency I still have that nasty nagging in the back of my mind saying maybe this time--this time--the world really has ended.
So with the rush of the water in my ears, the fan blaring overhead, the child knocking on the door and soap in my eyes I quickly complete the cleansing ritual and throw a towel around me. When I open the door there she is, sitting on the floor reading a book. She looks up and smiles.
"What did you need? I told you not to bother me in the shower unless it is an emergency!"
"Oh," she says non-chalantly, "the movie went off."
The movie went off. Great. Yea, I can see how that would be an emergency.
If you're looking for chuckles instead of listening to my painful shower experiences, check out this link courtesy of Nichtszusagen. Gotta love Star Wars.
Technorati tags: motherhood, showers, children, Star Wars