It may have been something I fed the family last night (I THOUGHT the chicken smelled a little funny) but for the first time in four years everyone in the family needed to use the restroom at the same time. And I mean grab-an-Ipad-play-some-Words-with-Friends bathroom time.
Daddy took the master. I was able to grab the second bathroom. Kid A is in the shower when the need hits and Kid B is running back and forth between each bathroom demanding to know when one of us is going to be done. Thankfully I’m totally zen about this and am enjoying the show but I can hear my husband yelling from his seat for Kid B to “KNOCK IT OFF and calm down”. I guess the man doesn’t appreciate someone banging on the door every 38 seconds when he is trying to accomplish hiz bizNEss.
Kid A is now doing some kind of Hare Krishna dance in the shower and knocks himself into the glass (which took me back to the time when he really did fall through the glass shower and needed 9 stitches). The sound of the banging glass caused every orifice of my body to tighten and it LITERALLY scared the crap out of me. At first I am shocked and then I start howling with laughter. Kid A is hopping up and down grabbing random parts of this nether region demanding to know why I am laughing so hard and I had to explain through my guffaws that he just literally scared the poop out of me and how that’s ironic because clichés such as ‘you’re killin’ me’ and ‘you slay me’ wouldn’t be nearly as funny if someone actually got killed or slayed but ‘you just scared the crap out of me’ is actually funny if you happen to be sitting on a toilet.
Kid B now momentarily doesn’t have to go and wants to know what all the banging and laughing is about.
Kid A is now out of the shower covered in soap standing right in front of me demanding me to MOVE, RIGHT NOW. I realize that he has written his name in soap letters upside down on his belly (awww, school’s working!:))
I finish up the process with Soap Kid now asking “Mom, do you really have to wipe?” What do you mean ‘do I have to wipe’? Is there another option? Note to self: check his butt later.
I wrap it up. Kid A hops on and because he is covered in soap slides right off the seat and knocks the trash can over. He is pissed and almost crying. I have yet to pull my pants up but am now in hysterics bent over laughing. Don’t linger too long on this visual it’s disturbing.
The King howls again through the walls “WHAT IS GOING ON OUT THERE?” but honestly he doesn’t care, he’s just trying to assert some control from behind his double-locked door fortress.
Yes, he is allowed to lock the bedroom door AND the bathroom door when he takes a crap. This right is not given to mothers. If I locked a door while taking a crap the kids would pick up axes on go all ‘The Shining’ on me.
I pick up Kid A which is liken to catching a greased pig at 4H camp while trying to keep my pants up. I don’t even know what happened to Kid B. She may have crapped in the shower for all I know but the maid is coming today so I choose to ignore that thought and let that be a surprise. Note to self: may want to tip the maid.
Eventually everyone is all crapped out. Literally. And because my wiping ritual was interrupted and not executed to its fullest I want to take a shower. (Sidebar: I was shocked to know that you can actually google ‘how to wipe your ass’ and was surprised by the returns.)
Yeah for me! I’m 2 minutes in and I can hear my son yelling for me from the kitchen. I ignore him. I do not respond, because I can reasonable justify that I could not hear him under the showerhead. He is getting louder and closer. “mom”…..”Mom”….still ignoring….”Mom”…ignoring still…”MOM!!!!” as the shower door flies open.
And typed words cannot express the tone in his voice “MOM!!!!!!” he yells – but in that word was “MOM, how DARE you bathe! What person requires hygiene when their son needs them? You disgust me.”
“Whaaaaat?” I ask.
“I can’t find my favorite paperclip.”
Do you realize in nine years I haven’t performed one natural or human function without someone either banging on the door or simply just walking in? I have no personal space. I have no personal things. I probably smell and have clumps of conditioner stuck in my hair. I can’t even remember the last time I shaved my legs. And I think only mothers can truly understand this. Men can’t because somewhere in the handbook they were granted the right to lock doors.
Anyways, I’m off to find a paperclip. The one that’s ‘shiny, and kind of bendy but not too bendy’. Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick.