A few weeks ago, I decided to indulge in a bath—yes, a real one, complete with bubbles and all. I only get around to this self-care ritual every seven or eight months. It’s never truly relaxing, but I’m persistent, so every now and then I’ll try again. I stopped locking the bathroom door ages ago; honestly, I’d rather deal with surprise visitors than endure the sounds of my children bickering or crying outside.
“Mom, are you done yet? What are you doing? I was in here first! Stop hitting me! Mom, he just hit me! I need to go potty RIGHT NOW!”
We have four bathrooms in our house. Four.
Yet, the lesser of two evils seems to be leaving the door unlocked and hoping for the best (sigh). I was lucky enough to enjoy around six minutes of solitude before my first uninvited guest arrived. She strolled in, lowered the toilet lid, and made herself more comfortable than I’ve ever been on that seat.
“Why are you taking a bath, Mom? You never take baths.”
Before I could respond, Uninvited Guest #2 burst in with enthusiasm.
“Mommy! You’re taking a bath! Can I watch?”
“No, and aren’t you supposed to be doing your homework?”
“Oh yeah, I’ll go get it.”
“Wait, what?”
Almost immediately, she returned (still uninvited), plopping down next to the tub with a pencil, her homework, and a lap desk. Really?
“I need help with my homework, Mommy.”
Uninvited Guest #1 chimed in, “Mom is trying to take a bath! Right, Mom?”
“Yes, my very observant child,” I replied, while UG#1 perched on her throne of a toilet, pointedly remarking, “Mom, I can see your… (pointing in the general direction of her chest). Maybe you should cover them up with a washcloth or something?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable? You see, in most cultures, it’s quite normal to take one’s clothes off before stepping into a tub of water. Just a thought.”
What can I say? I seize every chance to impart life lessons (i.e., common sense) to my kids.
In walks Uninvited Guest #3. Now it’s officially a party.
“MOMMY! Why you takin a bath? Can I come in?”
“No, Buddy. Go find your Dad (Where on earth is he?).”
“Otay Mommy, be right back.”
“Perfect.”
UG#2 asked, “Mommy, do you like taking a bath?”
“Sometimes more than others.”
UG#1 chimed in again, “Mom, the bubbles are disappearing. Are you sure you don’t want a washcloth or something, you know, to…” (more chest area pointing).
“Nope. I’m fine. I appreciate your concern, though. Here’s an idea: Get out.”
Re-enter UG#3, zooming in like a race car driver and grinning from ear to ear, charging straight for the bathtub.
“Stop the car, Buddy! Get out of the car!”
“BUDDY, YOU ARE NOT COMING IN…” (sigh) “Hi there, Sweetie.”
“I yike takin a bath with you, Mommy.”
“Just hand me the washcloth, please.”
And there you have it—my attempt at me-time, in a nutshell.
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In summary, a mother’s quest for relaxation often turns into an amusing circus. No matter how hard we try to carve out personal time, it seems that chaos is always just a step away.