Privacy Please...

   Many, many moons ago, when I was a child living in my parent's house, I can remember interrupting my mother during "bathroom time," frequently.  It sticks in my brain that most questions and problems seemed to arise while she was "occupied," shall we say.  I don't know if it was Murphy's Law at work, or if it was simply a lack of respect for my mother's personal space.  Either way, I would like to take this chance to apologize to my mother.  I would like to say I am sorry for barging into the one room where we should all be guaranteed a little quiet, alone time.  Even though I have fond memories of sitting next to the tub, giving my mother the "post game wrap up" from my day at school.  I am sure that she would have preferred to hear about my day...about ten minutes later in the living room, once she was dressed.
   
    Some things are difficult to appreciate until you realize it has been almost 5 years since you have been to the bathroom by yourself.  Not only do the little people accompany you to the bathroom for #1 and #2.  They frequently provide commentaries and state opinions about the current bathroom trip.  They let you know if it stinks, if you are taking too long, and will even ask you to let them see the product of the bathroom trip.  They watch your every move in the shower or the tub.  They ask why you are shaving and ask questions about body parts you simply aren't prepared to answer.

    So nothing surprised me more than when my daughter started kicking me out of the bathroom.  She requested I leave, and I was caught off guard.  I clarified, and she confirmed she wanted me to "go!"  She said "Mommy, I need privacy please."  She shut and locked the stall door.  As I stood staring at the locked door, I couldn't help but state what I was feeling.  "Seriously kid...I haven't pooped alone in five years, and now you are kicking me out."

   I can only hope that if I respect this new rule of her's, perhaps the favor will be returned.  Maybe, one day in the near future, I will be able to use the bathroom alone.  And then I remember my long chats with my mother, sitting on the edge of the tub.  As odd as it sounds, we did some of our best talking over those bubbles.  Maybe, one day, Molly will bring me a glass of wine to the side of the tub, sit down, and open up about some teen girly problem.  Maybe we can plan the perfect science project or perfect term paper? Until then, I suppose I will have to deal with my mini stalkers that not only watch the activity at hand in great detail, but feel free to comment about the results.  Because, if my memory serves me right, this is not going away anytime soon....