I woke up before the kids this morning, which meant without fingers in my nose, my eyelids being yanked open or the shrieking sounds of “We want SHREK Waffles and We Want Them Now!” I patted myself on the back for letting them skip their bath last night and chase the dog around the yard.
As a result, they overslept and I had the whole house to myself.
I brewed some coffee, surfed the web for column ideas and was suddenly struck by the urge to pee. (When I say suddenly, I mean the type of suddenly that only comes after giving birth to two children.) I rushed to the bathroom and then paused. I couldn’t help but notice the sunlight filtering through the window causing a halo effect around the potty below. It looked like….ahhh, heaven.
How long has it been since I used the restroom alone? I can’t recall. My son is approaching age six, so I’m guessing approximately six years. Since then, I have a restroom audience. At times, they’ve even clapped for me as I did for them when they were potty training.
But now, here I am. All Alone in the Bathroom – Mommy Heaven. I tip-toe toward the potty, careful to avoid those squeaky bath toys and not trip over the pairs of shoes that have been discarded pre-bath day before yesterday. Once upon the throne, I feel like a queen. I take my slow, sweet time and don’t worry about keeping anything covered. Yanking my pants down wouldn’t prompt questions that I wasn’t prepared to answer because for once, there was no one to witness what I had or didn’t have that was different from what they had or didn’t have.
I was alone – blissfully alone in my bathroom.
I sat there for a moment just savoring the silence. Then, I grabbed for the toilet paper and found a menacing Spiderman action figure dangling from the empty bar. I glanced across the bathroom. Discarded behind the door was the Ultra Charmin.
Fine. No problem. The kids have flushable wipes. Unfortunately, the entire box had been shoved into the bowl of the plastic trainer potty – along with a Fisher Price Loving Family Mommy, a plastic Easter Egg and a Princess teacup. I am quite certain that these items are related in some way, but I (being a grown-up) do not comprehend. I try to piece together the preschool rationale that led to the disaster. Perhaps my 2-year old was washing dishes in the potty? Then, the Fisher Price mommy happened along, saw the mess and attempted to drown herself?
I sighed and retrieved the toilet paper. I had just returned it to the roll, when I heard footsteps thudding down the hall.
“Mommy you in there? I need my Spiderman!”
DeMarCaTionVille 