Are We Still on Winter Break?
“I love those 15 minutes of peace I have every day,” said no mother of a two-year-old, ever.
It rained on Monday in drought ridden California. While my inner environmentalist cheered enthusiastically, the mother in me had to figure out what to do with my two, six and seven-year-old kids all day. The up side to a drought is we spend a lot of our time outside.
Fully immersed in our lazy-start-weekend-mode, we watched the rain from the windows, talked repeatedly about how wet the backyard was getting, played some games, watched a movie, made two loaves of banana bread and flew a bunch of fighter jet paper airplanes.
At some point I realized I should get dressed. Not only get dressed, but also take a shower. While I’m at it, I might as well put on clothes that I’d feel comfortable wearing if someone came to the door – like a bra.
The kids were all trapped inside. No one was going to get maimed in the backyard, out of ear shot, if I took a shower. I’m going for it! I decide. I tell the kids I’ll only be a few minutes.
I crack the bathroom door so that when the blood curdling scream occurs I’ll be sure to hear it, knowing that moment will be as soon as my hair is lathered with shampoo.
The scream didn’t come.
It was quiet.
A little too quiet.
I rubbed shampoo in my hair and washed my face like any normal person in a shower would, celebrating the fact that my children are maturing and don’t need to torture each other while I’m out of commission for five minutes. If you asked me if I have a thorough face washing routine I would tell you I think it’s a pretty straightforward experience, quick even. As I faced the faucet, about to rinse my face however, I felt a little finger in between my butt cheeks pushing gently … delicately testing the waters.
Then came a little voice, “squishy mama.”
I wash my eyes quickly and turn around to find a totally naked 2-year-old child smiling sweetly up at me. I look through the glass door to see her clothes on the floor in a pile.
My shower is not that big, but I didn’t hear her stealth toddler strike, taking off her clothes and sneaking through the shower door. I was completely surprised by her torpedo-finger to butt-cheek attack.
Next thing I know I have three kids in my bathroom.
Really? All three?
Two on the dry side of the glass and my 2-year-old, who is now completely wet, inside with me.
Isabella and Malik whine, “MOM! We want to come in too!”
“Can I just take a shower?” I moan.
“But, she’s in there!” they point in unison as if these sentences were rehearsed beforehand.
“I didn’t invite her!”
“Awe man! How come she gets to do the fun stuff,” Isabella rolls her eyes, annoyed.
“Blu! Show us your butt! Do a butt dance!” Malik encourages.
“No, we aren’t doing a butt dance.” I am trying to get all the shampoo out of my hair quickly. I knew something was going to happen if I washed my hair! “A little privacy guys? Remember privacy?” Let’s make this a teaching moment.
“But you are already naked mom! It’s too late!” Malik laughs, the girls join in.
“Hey!” Blu has an idea. She sings, “Sugar pie!”
Isabella sings back, “Honey bunch.”
More butt dancing takes place, on both sides of the glass now.
“You know!” Blu continues.
“I love you!” Both Malik and Isabella sing and giggle.
Now the butts are singing in unison, pressed against the glass like separated hands that found each other, singing Sugar Pie Honey Bunch enthusiastically.
“OH my god!” I groan, trying not to laugh.
All three of them are hysterical. “This is fun!”
“Yeah! This is fun! We should always do showers together!” Malik says. “I want to try a shower now! All by myself! I think I’ll like it Mom!”
“Can I be next!? PLEASE MOM!” Isabella begs.
“Mama! I want squeezy. I need to clean the glass!” Blu points to the squeegee hanging on the wall.
I hand it to her. At this point – what the hell.
“Yay!!! Again! Again!” Malik yells as Blu squeegee’s the fog and water off the glass to get a better view of her siblings.
And that’s how we all got clean on Monday.
I actually laughed at this one! Pretty funny.