I’ve fallen victim to those body-wash commercials where a well-toned beautifully bronzed woman showers under a misty waterfall shaded by tropical trees. I’m not a complete idiot, I don’t really think showering will make me feel like I’m in the Caribbean about to sip a Mai Tai. Still, I have hope. I crave calm like a baby craves a bottle. So, maybe, just maybe, the commercial isn’t lying? They promise relaxation and rejuvenation, so I bite . . .
After dropping a ridiculous amount for a bottle of soap, I place it promisingly in my shower and plan my escape. The twins are napping, I’m covered in spit-up, and my five year old (Sutton) is engrossed in an episode of The Fresh Beat Band. I turn the shower on and step in . . .
The citrus oils are refreshing and those yummy bubbles smell fantastic. I swear, the two minutes I stand (uninterrupted) under the hot water is a dream. However, it all ends abruptly. Sutton runs into the bathroom screaming, “The twins are crying” and, she adds, holding up my plastic nemesis, “Barbie is missing her shoe”! Panic fills her preschool voice. I jump out of the shower covered in coconut suds, wrap a towel around me, and rush into the nursery. One of the twins has dropped their pacifier and is whaling. I pop the “Paci” back into place and ask Sutton to “problem solve” the shoe situation while I drip my way back to the bathroom.
Sutton follows me and sits on the bathroom floor announcing she will “wait” so we can find the shoe as a team. Great, what perfect timing for the “teamwork lesson” to kick-in! With bubbles now drying on my body and the hot water running cold, I explain to my daughter the concept of privacy. A ten minute conversation ensues . . .
“Mommy what is privacy?”
“Privacy sounds like private seat.”
“I love the letter S”
“I can almost write all of my letters.”
“Letter is a funny word.”
“Why do you need privacy?”
After my very unrelaxed scrub down, I step out of the shower and search the house for a shoe the size of a pea. The twins never go back to sleep. One spits-up on the floor and the other poops.
Completely frustrated, I yank the bottle of body-wash out of the shower and toss it into the trash. Clearly, this bottle is broken. Seeing the frustration in my eyes, Sutton slowly closes the bathroom door and announces, “Mommy, it looks like you need some privacy” . . .