Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Day 71: In Hot Water

My morning shower has become something of a joke these days. Seriously.

First off, our shower is pretty small. Not miniscule, but small. In fact, small enough that my husband once broke the wall with his butt when he leaned over. I laughed hard enough over it that it was almost worth the $1,000 repair job. (I kid you not.) This cozy little shower also has two temperatures: Glacial Waterfall and Volcanic Rain. It is either cold, or it is scalding hot. I personally go for scalding--to the point that my skin turns a lovely and most becoming shade of fuschia. The only exception to these two temperatures is an odd phenomenon known as Lukewarm that shows up on occassion. No idea why.

So, now you can envision this shower, right? You can see the narrow walls with slightly different colored grout. You can picture the showerhead spewing forth hot, steaming water. Well. Add to that picture me and all my childrens. Because why is it that I can plunk my kids down in front of "Martha Speaks" and leave them totally engrossed, but right as I'm going to lather my head with a generic Aveda rip-off shampoo, they come bursting in? Doors thrown open wide, socks flying off, insistently calling "SHOWAH! SHOWAH!" At which point the glass door is flung open and little clothed bodies try to wiggle their way in while my dripping wet arms, with the hot water cascading down them and on to the floor, try to disrobe my children in less time than it takes them to take two steps.

Imagine, too, that I discover that the Boy has a poopy diaper. Do I go and search the house, dripping wet, looking for wipes? Do I make do with toilet paper? Do I step out of the shower and just hose off his backside and wait until the coast is clear to get in again? Hm. You probably don't want to know which of those I choose most often.

Finally, all ready, we now have me and the Girl and the Boy in the shower. But wait! There's more! Because the Boy came in wearing a plastic construction hat and carrying a soccer ball and the Girl has brought along her umbrella, which she insists needs to be opened to keep the shampoo that I'm trying to rinse out of my hair, out of her eyes.

I am now furiously washing my face, determined to extricate myself from this brawl as speedily as possible. The Boy has plunked his pudgy bum down on the drain, so the water is now up to my ankles. The Girl is pretending to be a doggy and crawling in circles around my feet. Neither want their hair washed. I grab my razor to shave my armpits, and the kids spy a new toy. There is no compromise on this one: the answer is no, it has always been no, and they will always ask anyway.

As soon as I step out and wrap myself in my towel: they want the water off, they want towels, they want to be carried so that they don't slip on the floor that is wet from me getting them undressed. (Remember?)

Sometimes I daydream of a big, huge, ginormous shower with perfectly heated water... all to myself.


InkMom said...

I feel your pain, sister!

When we were newly married at BYU, our crappy little apartment had the tiniest shower I have ever seen. If you dropped the soap, you had to get out of the shower to pick it back up.

ANd the shower head had the strongest water pressure I have yet to experience in my life. It was high up (good for my super tall husband) but that means it was hard to change the angle for short people. When my parents came to visit, my mom accused CPod of trying to drown her in the shower. So funny.

Christina said...

I love the visual :o)

Chrysanthemom said...

Love it, love it! I am all for your memoir idea! Even if you called it a mommy blog, I would thoroughly enjoy it - every time I get a chance to catch up and read it!

Skea Family said...

This is all too familiar!

Nicole B. said...

I can totally see it! That is hysterical. I miss you guys.