Why I Don't Shower

Thursday, December 22, 2016

I laid Coop down for a nap, and the other two kids were watching a show on the computer (we put the tv away in the attic, more on that later).  I debated between doing the dishes or getting some more Christmas stuff wrapped, and then it dawned on me I haven't showered in...I don't know how long.  Boom.  I'll shower.  I was excited to shower.  I love showers.  I check on all the kids one more time, then go in the bathroom and lock the door.  It's always iffy to lock the door at my house.  The plus side is that no child can come in, fling open the shower curtain and proceed to ask you all the questions.  The downside is that no child can come in.  So if they need something, they stand on the other side of the door (which is where I would prefer them to be...), yelling at me about something that I can't understand over the noise of the water.

This morning, it was Sam.  I was enjoying my chance to use the bathroom with a locked door, knowing full well no one would be flinging the door open, looking for me because they hadn't seen me in 30 seconds.  I had the water running for the shower, but I hear this little voice yelling something at me about how the door is locked.

I know.  I know the door is locked.

So I grab a towel and wrap it around me and open the door to find out what he needs.  He proceeds to insist that I follow him into the kitchen, where he shows me a bag of breaded fish fillets (let's call them fish sticks) he pulled out of the freezer and telling me that he wants some.  Right now.

Side note: Have you seen this? Because this is what popped into my head.


I die.  But I digress, back to the story.

Oh. My. Swears.  This is why I don't shower.

I tell him no, I'll make him some after I shower.  It's like 10:38 am.  You don't need fish sticks at 10:38 am.  Except I'm horribly mistaken --after I casually toss the bag of fish back into the freezer and he proceeds to just  l o s e  i t  on the kitchen floor, wailing and gnashing his teeth about how he wants them, but how he wanted to get them out for me and not me get them back out.

Mentally, I recognize this is probably why the kid has so many tantrums, because here is the proof that they're effective.  Mentally, I also recognize that I just wanted to be in the hottest shower of my life, and that a teaching moment is not going to happen right here, so I'm going to cut my losses and cook the damn fish sticks.

I tell him he can have the fish sticks, or not have the fish sticks, but if he's going to keep crying he doesn't get the fish sticks.  Finally that sinks in through the tears and I get the go-ahead to proceed.  I grab the toaster oven (because 3 fish sticks!!) and plug it in, get the fish sticks going and set a timer.  Placated, Sam skips off to the living room to finish his show, and I get my towel clad self back to the bathroom.  I debate locking the door again, weighing the feeling of freedom that comes when I can be naked worrying about the door being thrown open with the chance of someone needing something else, and having to step out of a running shower to unlock the door so a child can talk to me while I drip water all over the floor.

This is why I don't shower.  If it's during the day, it's a child.  If it's after the kids are asleep, it's my husband.  I would love the luxury of standing under the pouring stream of steaming hot water for 15 minutes, doing nothing, before deciding I better get soaped up without running the risk of someone wanting me while I'm standing there. Real life, my shower lasts for 3 minutes, with at least two interruptions.

Bring on the perfume and the dry shampoo.  I'm ready to give up bathing all together.

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