Thursday, April 11, 2013

Lesson #30: The Shower Is A Dangerous Place

Some people can shower at night. I am not one of them. Trust me. Anyone who's seen me first thing in the morning would agree: this hair is not made for night showering. Because of our schedules, I often find myself showering when my husband is either sleeping or not home. Since I'm not a shower at night kinda gal I am held hostage by the shower on a daily basis. Inevitably there is an ominous crash, thump or cry while I'm trapped in my shower. It's like playing craps every morning, and let me just tell ya: luck definitely ain't no lady.

When my son was an infant I used to bring the baby monitor in the bathroom with me. Even though that thing was jacked on high, I'd swear I heard him crying at least three times every shower. I'd jump out and press my ear up against the speaker, only to hear... nothing. As he got a little older I could barricade him in the living room with baby gates and closed doors. It never failed though: I'd be getting good and soaped up when the dog would start barking maniacally. I'd yell to my son, trying to get him to answer me so I'd know he was ok and not being kidnapped by a band of pirates or something, but he never did. I'd leap out of the shower and run into the living room in a complete panic, dripping wet, only to find him in one piece, looking at me like the crazy person that I clearly am.

Once he figured out he could knock down the baby gates it was all over. Now that there are two of them running amok, the stakes are oh so much higher.

One morning in December we were preparing for some friends to come over with their kiddos to make ornaments and decorate cookies. Cookies were baked, the house was nice and clean, and everything was in its place; I just needed to shower before they arrived and the festivities got underway. No sooner had I gotten in the shower, than I started hearing strange bumping noises. I picked up the pace a bit but it didn't sound too bad, and the Hubs was home so surely he was keeping an eye on things. After a few strange bumps, the loud crashes started. "You better check on them!" I hollered to Hubs. He didn't answer me either, and the crashes continued, louder and in closer succession. "GO CHECK ON THEM!!!" I yelled. A moment later, Hubs came into the bathroom. You know it's not good when your significant other simply says, "You have to see this. I can't even explain what they did." What they did was take everything in our playroom and throw it into one corner. Every. Single. Thing. Every book from the shelves, every Hot Wheels car, every stuffed animal, block, puzzle piece, bin from the toy shelf. The entire room was completely bare, save for the one corner with its toy mountain. We were literally speechless.It was one of those moments as a parent where you're so dumbfounded you can't even be mad.

This kind of thing happens regularly at my house. They wait until the opportune time (ie: mom's in the bathroom) and all hell breaks loose. It's ok though. Little do they know, I'm keeping tabs and one day I'm gonna cash in my chips. Because, you see, one day one of them will be changing my diapers. Fifty years from now, when my son is in the shower, I'll be dumping all my caftans, crossword puzzles, bifocals, and Depends into a corner of my room, the whole time smiling serenely and playing senile so I don't have to clean it up myself. Who knows, maybe I'll even convince the grandkids that Grandma needs help "finding something" and trick them into trashing it with me. Oh yeah, it'll look like a hotel room after Led Zeppelin checkes out. For now I'll just bide my time and use my blog as a running record to refresh my memory when the time comes. Heh heh heh!