It was perfect. Hot, steamy, and… littered with plastic purple mermaid dolls. But I didn’t care. After the week I’d had with the young’ens, I was just happy to have one. I could not wait to indulge in a relaxing, child-free, luxurious shower.
Being a mom, to get what you want, you have to plan ahead. It’s much like starting a trip that you want to go smoothly.”Anyone need to go potty before I get in?” I ask. Manchild is voluntold to accept my offer. Girlchild, home nursing the worlds tiniest head cold, ignores me. I warn them that I will be unavailable to them during the shower. “Anything you need, tell me now,” I warn. Silence
I regulate the water temperature, prepare to step in, then hear my name followed by squealing from the living room. My laptop and Netflix were suppose to be co-babysitting Manchild, but thanks to the magic of touch screens (did I mention I hate all non-medical technology) he was now only able hear his show and stare at the wrong screen. I come in like an IT expert in a sea shell bath towel, and save the day. Good. That’s done.
I head back to the shower with anticipation, and the sweet smell of soap suds drawing me in.The mirror is good and steamed up and my tense shoulders are waiting. Then I hear giggling, where there ought not be. I turn right into the bathroom and find Girlchild, laughing at her own cleverness, taking my shower. MY SHOWER! She invites me in with her which I promptly refuse, there shall be no co-showering, that shower was mine! She stole it. I remind her to wash her hair (she doesn’t) and wait in the kitchen, with my towel.
I have had things stolen from me before. Like my bike shorts in 5th grade, when they first hit the market and were used for fashion, not biking. Black, with one hot pink stripe down one leg and a neon green stripe down the other. I’ve had fund-raiser money stolen from me in high school, and my clip board from the nursing station while I was working the Medical Surgical Unit in New Mexico.
But never have I had my shower stolen, especially not by a 6-year-old, minorly grubby, little blonde girl. She was pretty sure she was awfully clever. I was pretty sure I was looking forward to lots of alone time with God’s perfect muscle relaxer.Bah!
I eventually did get my own shower, and what was left of the hot water. It was not a perfect day by far (for starters, I was showering at 2pm), but it was better than nothing and could certainly be worse.
A true perfect day would look something like waking up on my very own 4 acre plot of land in Colorado. Strolling out into the sun to feed my unique flock of 20 laying hens, most all of them rare breeds and different from the rest. I collect 20 eggs, because no hens took the day off, and all laid by 9am. I’d put my kids on the bus, bask in my stay-at-home-mom-goodness, and ride out into the woods with my husband on our draft/paint horse steeds. Lunch would be sushi, delivered to our door with cold diet sodas, and we’d work hard and fulfillingly on our homestead until dinnertime. I’d do farm chores and Captain Schenanigans would alternate between farm work and recording work as a recording artist. He’d have a recording studio in town. Lastly, my house would be clean, because my kids volunteered to scour it the day before. Just ’cause they wanted to.
Anyway, that’s todays dream. Girlchild shared with me her perfect day on the way home from 4-H last night. She would be at a Rabbit Show, showing Good Bunny, and the crowd would go wild, clapping and cheering for her. Someone would present her with chocolate, and she would be allowed to do whatever she wanted that day. I love day dreams of 6yr old girls. There’s nothing like ’em.
I surveyed Manchild on his perfect day, but his reply was to jump on the neighbors trampoline or ride his bike. Pretty much every week contains Manchild’s perfect day. It’s good to be 4 years old.
Anyway, the silver lining about most days is that you get to try again tomorrow. For example, today I showed up at my women’s group at church in an outfit that looked like I actually tried. Cute black and gray wrap shirt that was tunic length with black leggings. Bought this year! Things were going along just fine, right up until I reached into my wrap shirt, felt around at the lump at the bottom where the 2 pieces of fabric over-lap, grabbed hold of something odd and pulled out Manchild’s outgrown sock. Right in front of all the ladies in my group. But that’s okay. I get to try to dress myself without my son’s old socks and go out in public again tomorrow. We’ll give it another go, so we will.
And the next time I shower, I will do it stealthily. By sneaking into the bathroom, locking the door, and telling no one. Just me and the steam.