Sometimes I’m shocked and, to be honest, a bit fascinated by the amount of dirt and grime I’m willing to leave on my body and hair and still go out in public. Now, I haven’t always had such poor hygiene. At one time I too enjoyed daily showers. In fact, I can actually pinpoint the exact moment the upkeep of my personal appearance took a severe nosedive. Let me see….Oh yes, when I had children. Admittedly, things have improved slightly now that my kids are two and four. But now, my showering rituals are minimal: just to get the grease off and no major primping really happens. That is why I take my Saturday Showers very seriously and may never fully recover from the tragic loss of my recent Saturday Shower. Let me explain…
Bright and early on Saturday mornings I lay down a decree in our home. “Family,” I tell them, “Mommy is going to get a shower. No one is allowed in my bathroom during this time. Just stay here with your father. Better, yet, don’t leave this floor of the house, OK?”
They all nod in agreeance, and I shoot a stern look at my husband to really solidify the point. In no uncertain terms, this look means “Keep them out of the bathroom until I come back or I’m coming after you, pal.”
And just like that, I’m off! I’m giddy like a school girl and almost fall running up the stairs for my Saturday Shower. Dancing into the bathroom I blast the Billy Joel Station on Pandora and sing along with my favorite Piano Man
“A bottle of white….”
“A bottle of red…”
Yes, Billy, perhaps a bottle of rose instead…
Cranking the temperature of the water to near scalding (it takes a lot to get rid of that Mom-grime, am I right?), I examine the assortment of shower products that have sadly collected soap scum during the week due to lack of use.
Pink body scrubs, girly smelling lotions, and fluffy loofahs, I give them all a little wink. Hello, friends. Good to see you again.
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Then my perfect little Saturday Shower bubble was burst when my four year old infiltrated my sanctuary.
“Hey, buddy. What are you doing here? Where’s your dad?”
“Well, Mommy is taking a shower so….privacy please.. .“
“I’m just going to go potty”
“Well, we have three other potties in the house. Go use one of those. Where did you say your dad is?”
“Nope, I’ll just use this one.”
And before I could chase him out, the kid dropped trou. When he didn’t lift the seat, I knew what sort of “business” he intended to do.
I tried my best to ignore him and hoped he would just wrap up his “business” and get out quickly. But the kid added insult to injury when the steamy bathroom no longer smelled of vanilla sugar body scrub, but of my gross kid.
I turned up my nose and let out a yelp when he flushed the potty and froze me out.
Finally, I whimpered in defeat when he swiped my phone off the counter, switched off my tunes, and exited the bathroom playing a game on my phone
A little light headed from the smell, cold, and music-less, my Saturday shower was a complete bust.
My kids ruin a lot of things: my Saturday Shower, my flat stomach, my ability to run up the stairs without peeing myself. While I can’t fix most of these ruined things, I can lock the door next Saturday and run the dishwasher and washing machine as soon as my husband gets in the shower on Monday morning.