Apparently, the noise from across the apartment woke The Boy (who never sleeps very well with laxative in him, but really, can you blame him). In the middle of my shower, I heard a voice from right next to Violet's bedroom door (okay, it is really a closet, but she doesn't know any better) saying, "Mommy, I want a towel." That's The Boy's code for: I am about to flood this place with poo...
Usually, The Boy doesn't like to come in the bathroom when the shower is running because it is loud and the one time he opened the shower door back home he got doused (we also use that technique on annoying cats), but in he came and my "spa weekend" was kaput. After fooling around with the cabinets and the toilet, he got curious and kept peeking in the shower asking me about "why the water comes out up there" and "Why is the soap up on that shelf."
Not to put scary images in your head, but I was very careful to keep my bum pointed toward The Boy so as not to shock him with his first (conscious) glimpse of the (adult) female form. That lasted about 3.5 minutes when I didn't move fast enough and he peeked in from the other end of the shower. He asked me, "What's wrong with your stomach." At first I was horribly insulted thinking, "Uh, YOU and your sister. That's what happened to my stomach." Then I took a look at the boy's startled face and he was holding out his shirt in two peeks right under his shoulders. I explained that everyone's body is different and girls have breasts and mommies have bigger breasts.* Then, with a horrified look on his face, he pointed downward and said, "What's that?"
So that brings me to the point of this post. If another person tells me that my little trip to California here must be a nice vacation, I am going to flip out (like Tom Cruise in Jerry McGuire - or actually, like Tom Cruise in real life). Did they not hear the part about the laxatives? The not showering? The lack of privacy? I guess I have to admit that my real life is kind of like a vacation what with not having to wash dishes (sometimes I do), or doing laundry (sometimes I do), or making my bed (I never do this, but I do pick up the dog poo outside to compensate), so maybe I deserve a glimpse at what other people have to go through (except the laxative thing, no one should have to go through this). I guess what I am saying is that I don't need a vacation, I need to go home so I can relax.
post-bathtime (for the kids)