Today was one of those days where the boys interrupted my shower no less than three times. The first interruption came when someone (Mikey) decided to flush the toilet and turn on the sink to brush his teeth as I stood, face upturned, under a the spray of water. To those who live in a modern house, this isn’t a big deal. But, those who live in a older home understand that, essentially, I was suddenly standing under a torrent of molten lava. I stepped out of the shower and suggested strongly that he postpone his hygeine until I was out of the shower.
The second time I was about to shampoo my hair. Mikey came crashing into my bathroom (they never knock) to tell me that Nicholas was hanging from the furniture in the bathroom and couldn’t get down. I turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, and sloshed my way to the second bathroom to see what Nicholas could possibly be hanging from since we don’t have furniture in the bathroom. I found Nicholas, his stomach the center point of a human teeter-totter, swinging back and forth from the lip of the sink. I put him back down on the ground, gave both of them a wet but steely glare, and slipped my way down the hall to resume my shower.
Eventually Nicholas made his way back up the sink and, despite Mikey’s warnings, turned on and off the sink faucet. I know this because I suffered the consequences of his indecision while I rinsed out my conditioner. No sooner did I open my mouth to scream bloody murder would the water return to normal. Seconds later Mikey crashed through the bathroom door again, this time to declare the obvious.
“Mama! I keep telling Nico it’s a bad idea, but he won’t stop playing with the faucet.”
I thanked Mikey for the report and told him to give me five minutes of peace. Hot and cold peace, but peace nonetheless.
No sooner did Mikey leave did I hear the unmistakable sound of a toddler running in flip flops. Flip flops running in my direction. I rubbed the shower door free of condensation and there Nicholas stood, eyes round and serious, no doubt contemplating the wonder of someone willingly standing under a stream of water. And, let me tell you, there is nothing more disconcerting than a 2.5 year old watching your every move in the shower.
Of course, I’m used to a certain level of entertainment surrounding my showers, but usually the action happens upon exiting the shower and entering the family room. The ingenuity of little boys seems to be magnified by parental absence, which is why it is not unusual to find inanimate objects in compromising positions.
Occasionally I walk in on a tense moment, like when the regular dinosaurs and the Tyrannosaurus Rex on the back of the Golden Grahams replayed a scene straight out of West Side Story. As you can see from it’s terrified blue eyes, my poor little while elephant was caught in the cross-fire.
If I happen to take a shower while Yo Gabba Gabba is on, I am invariably greeted by the wailing drums of a pre-school punk rock band on a soft green stage.
But, usually, shower time is “get the chair so we can reach the markers” time. This is when all the coloring on the walls, tables, and toys happen. The real art. I tried to outsmart them by hiding the markers, but that only gave them an excuse to raid my desk. Luckily, most items find their way back, even if the means aren’t always expected.