My new house has a fabulous huge tub complete with six water-shooting jets that so far only the kids have enjoyed.
Yesterday, 5:35 PM:
- Dammit, I’m going to take a bath!
- Oooh, I should put on a facemask before my bath!
- I dig through my unpacked boxes and locate a facemask.
- I apply the cool, thick, black mask. I am ready for some serious pampering.
- But first I should find a home for every other object in those boxes.
- In putting away the various bathroom items, I realize that the bathroom organization system I established when I first unpacked the other bathroom boxes isn’t going to work, so I redo the closet/drawers/cabinets in our bathroom, which necessitates redoing the closet/drawers/cabinets in the kids’ bathroom also.
- While I’m in the kids’ bathroom I see that it’s gross. I clean it.
- My kids notice that I’m not locked in my room like I said I was going to be.
- They come upstairs to ask me for shit.
- They see my face mask and freak out and think it’s hilarious and ask a million questions.
- Where’s your father? Taking a nap.
- I go downstairs with them to set them up with a TV show. No, not that show! Yes, this one. No I hate this one. But Moooommmmmyyyyyyy he got to pick last time! But it’s for stupid little babies. No it’s not! I like it. Then you’re a stupid little baby. Mooooommmmmyyyyyyy! He called me a stupid little baby! Etc etc etc etc etc.
- I escape the whiny battle and my facemask is tight and cracking. Time to get in that bath!
- I turn on the water.
- I notice the sand and dirt left behind from my children’s earlier bath, after a morning of mud digging and frog catching. I have to clean the tub.
- I clean the tub.
- While I’m at it, I clean the sink and toilet.
- Finally! I can take my bath!
- I turn on the hot water and put in two scoops of the bath salts I unearthed while looking for my facemask, which, by the way, is beginning to burn.
- What the heck, I deserve a third scoop.
- I undress.
- I realize that my book is on my iPad and iPads and baths don’t mix so I need to get an actual book, which means that I need to go downstairs to the bookshelf which is in the same room as the kids. Damn. Is it worth it?
- I decide it is.
- I put on my bathrobe, which I never use, and go downstairs.
- I field a million questions about my seldom-used bathrobe and fetch a glass of water for one and a glass of milk for the other. And then ice for each.
- Back upstairs I see that the bath is filling nicely. I step in.
- Hmm, it’s not quite as hot as I had hoped. I feel the water still rushing from the tap. Ice cold.
- I quickly turn off the water and am determined to enjoy my pretty-warm bath for as long as possible before it’s freezing.
- I finally wash off the face mask and can only hope that the burning and itching will end eventually.
- I put on the jets.
- I try to get comfortable.
- I realize why living room furniture is not designed after bathtubs.
- I recommit to enjoying my damn self and getting relaxed as hell in my beautiful new bathtub.
- I pull out my book, (I might have made the wrong choice): Siblings Without Rivalry.
- I realize that I am parenting badly.
- I realize that I am setting my children up for years of envy and bickering.
- I realize that I am setting myself up for years of my children’s envy and bickering.
- I realize that without any hot water, I can’t rinse off after my bath.
- I resign myself to marinating in my own filth and calling it clean.
- I get cold.
- I get out.
- Oh, good, you’re finally out. Hope you enjoyed your bath! You’re just in time to put the kids to bed.
And now I remember why I never take baths.