I'm having an affair with the Tidy Bowl Man. Or at least my husband probably thinks so. I regularly find myself headed to the bathroom to get just a few minutes alone.
I've got vivid memories of my mom uttering various pleads for privacy to us, namely to me and my brother but sometimes my dad too. "May I at least go to the bathroom by myself?" or "I've been to the kitchen, den, and my sewing room. Are you guys going to follow me to the next room?" (Yep, we probably were.)
Moms are like magnets. There is this amazing, unstoppable draw to the matriarchs of most families. It seems as soon as a child is born to a woman, she is magically infused with some kind of fierce polar attraction, where those who are dependent upon her must be in close proximity. Panic ensues if she is not in obvious eyesight. And if one of the them finds himself near her, the other(s) are fixated on finding her too.
Sometimes when I'm hiding away for a little restroom retreat and hear the familiar knock at the door, followed by Mo-om? I try to be patient. I remind myself that when the kids are older, I'll be sitting in there, yearning for those tiny taps (that inevitably become insistent knocks). Until then, Mr. Clean and I are going to continue our private mini-meetings as long as necessary. You see, my husband is close, but every woman knows that you can't trust a sailor-particularly one who drives around in your toilet.
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