I cannot go to the bathroom in peace. I feel that this is going to cause some sort of serious digestive problem for me in the future. I try to time it so that I only go when Harry is asleep and the other two are at school, but Griffin only goes to school 3 days a week so that is quite a challenge on the other 4 days.
Jay does not understand. It has taken me years to get him to remember that if he walks in the door from work and goes to the bathroom, I will freak out. I don’t think he understands why, exactly, but he respects the fact that my head will spin around and I will shoot flames out of my ears if, in the first 30 minutes he is home, he has to pee. Poor man. He probably thinks I’m crazy.
But I know what the restrooms are like in his office and I cannot understand why he would wait to go here. At work, there are three stalls. It is quiet in there. There is not enough space under the door for people to stick their fingers. He does not have to stock the soap, toilet paper, or paper towels. For those few minutes, he is alone with his thoughts. Whatever they may be because every time I ask what he is thinking, he says “nothing.”
The real problem is that nothing good happens while I’m in the bathroom. I hear things like, “don’t worry, Mommy, Harry’s o.k.” and “we’re waving to the man in the yard!” and “Mommy, where are your scissors–oh, never mind!”
I’ve also heard, “Mommy, I made a cross on the window!” I replied, “that’s great, honey.”
Then I thought about it. “Wait, with what?” “Just spit.” How lovely.
They cannot even seem to watch TV without me if I go to the bathroom. Someone will manage to change the channel or switch the TV input or delete the recording they’re watching and then the herd of elephants comes to the door to plead their case for why it wasn’t their fault.
Today I managed to use the facilities in peace, but when I came out I discovered opened drawers in my bedroom. Including the one on the nightstand next to the bed that houses….personal items. The older kids were watching PBS, but Harry was wandering freely and he really has no fear of invading my privacy.
I spent the rest of the Curious George episode trying to surreptitiously search the playroom for foil packets before I find my 6-year-old trying to sound out the word “Trojan” later on in the week. I’m terrified that I will find a shiny new addition to Buzz Lightyear’s spaceship or the Little People doll house that will cause me to burst into flames. It’s going to be a long few years.