If I told you how many days it’d been since my shower and I had had a face-to-face conversation, you’d throw up.
See, I’m a crazy busy mom of five crazy little squirts, and shower time is almost as ironic as sleep in a mom’s world — it’s the something you need the most but usually get the least.
I finally got the chance to take one yesterday morning, when I had gotten to that point of disgustingness that can only be compared to when your kitchen floor needs to be mopped so badly your feet stick to it. I told everyone — I prepared everyone — where I’d be, how important my task was — I made sure they were all doing what they were supposed to be doing and that so-n-so was helping who he needed to, etc. My hubby was even still home, so I figured… I got this! Right??
I get the water piping hot, I step in — and for the first few minutes I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. Ohhhhh, heavenly heaven of all heavens! I don’t remember the last time a shower felt THIS good! I seriously think I’ve died and am floating on some cloud — this feels SO amazingly wonderful! Have you ever been that dirty? I mean THAT dirty? Good. Then you can appreciate where I’m coming from.
Just as I’m coming back to reality a little and realizing I need to grab the shampoo, the unthinkable (but probable) happens. Yep. You’re right — the water pressure starts to drop, and as thoughts of OOOOOOOH NO YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME form in my brain, the water turns to ice. And I mean ICE.
My first reaction is to want to jump out of the shower and streak out of the bathroom like a mad-woman, screaming at the top of my lungs to everyone in the house to stop whatever they’re doing to ruin my shower!!!! It’s MY shower! I’ve EARNED this! I NEEEEEED this!!!!
But I stay calm, luckily, and stay in the shower — mostly because I know that no one should EVER see THAT except for my unconditionally-loving husband, and I start to do that oh-so-fun freezing shower dance. You know the one: where you barely step into the water stream to get something wet, then jump back out to scrub, trying not to cry, then you brace yourself again as you put that arm or leg or whatever back into the stream of freezing water just long enough to rinse it off.
Grrrrrrrrrr. Grr. Grr. Grr. GRR!
At least I’m burning a calorie.
You know how, when you’re in the middle of a challenge — even a small one like this — if you can think about things to be grateful for, you get through it better? It’s not so bad? Well, I try that… I try to think how lucky I am to have running water, to have soap, to have a dry towel waiting for me, to have clothes to put back on when I’m done in this miserable torture chamber that started out as such a lovely escape at the mom salon…
But what makes it REALLY hard is that someone keeps teasing me the whole time I’m in there doing this tiny, contained, River Dance: the water gets warm! Oh, no, just kidding — now it’s freezing again. No, wait! Now it’s almost hot! No, no, no, sorry — it’s actually ice cold now. WHAAAAAAAT?? If you’re going to put me throw a polar freeze, then let’s just get it over with already! Whatever you’re doing to take away my hot water, just finish it and stop taunting me so!
I finally get decently clean enough to turn off the water with my shaking hand, and step out to reach for my towel. Ahhhhh–shudder–ahhhh–teeth clatter–ahhhh. Starting to warm up and dry out a little. But then OH! Someone else is in on the plan to ruin my coveted shower experience: Pumpkin, our mischevious little kitty, is sticking his paw under the bathroom door and is using my pinky toe as a pin cushion. OW! Are you kidding me right now?! All I needed was 10 minutes, people! And…feline!
I step away from the door and get out of the range of the orange-and-white death paw, grumblingly pulling my clothes on — the same jeans I pretty much always wear (yes, the ones my husband says I need to replace because the knees are ripped, but seriously, I’m a mess most of the time anyway, and they’re one of my only pairs that currently fit), and my hubby’s comfy sweatshirt ’cause, let’s face it, I have quite the muffin-top currently — even WITH those ripped jeans. I throw a comb through my hair and knot it up on my head in a wet bun to get it out of the way because I really only can justify making the time to do anything with it on Sundays for church — and because I’m in a hurry to get out of the bathroom to appropriately yell at whoever needs to be yelled at for my horribly disappointing shower experience.
As luck — or life — or “it figures” — would have it, of course I leave the bathroom to find out that the reason for the ice cold/warm/freezing/hot/arctic water was none other than this: Owen was down in the kitchen washing dishes like a good, obedient, chore-doer.
What was I mad about again?