Moms know. You get like one day. When they are infants, it may be one day every 3 months, when they are toddlers maybe one day every 2 weeks. My youngest is 9, so I have paid some dues. I get one day a week. One day to do all those things you have to do for everybody else and can't do for yourself because of all those little, uh, lets say "angels" running around. Like shaving your whole leg, not just the bottom half. Cutting your toenails. Trimming those walrus eyebrows. You know what you do, and how often you get to do it. My day is Sunday.
So I'm in the shower on Sunday, haven't been in for a full minute yet. And I hear:
Knock knock "Mom! Mumble mumble mumble!"
"I can't hear you. Wait until I'm out of the shower."
Knock knock "Mom! Mumble mumble!"
"I can't hear you. Wait until I'm out of the shower."
"But mom!"
"I! CAN'T! HEAR! YOU! WAIT! UNTIL! I'M! OUT! OF! THE! SHOWER!"
"I can't!"
"Is someone dying?"
"No."
"Then leave!"
But then I'm concerned, you know? What is wrong? I forgot to ask if anyone was bleeding. I forgot to ask if everyone was conscious. What caused Leroy to come to me and yell? What? So I rush through my shower. My one shower I can take without being late to work or the dishwasher kicking in to douse me with cold water or the teenager stealing all the hot water for his shower. I rush. I get out and don't even dry off. I wrap myself in a towel and hurry to the door to find Leroy. I have to say his name a few times to get him to come back. I ask what was so important it couldn't wait until I was out of the shower to tell me. And this is what he said:
"Dad told me to tell you to let him know when you get out of the shower."
Read that again. Yes, you read that right. The thing he couldn't wait until I was out of the shower to tell me was that I'm supposed to tell someone when I'm out of the shower. Yet somehow the irony was lost on the little brat.
So now, all clean, I head down to the kitchen. I make coffee and pour my bowl of cereal. Cereal eaters, you know the drill. You have a very limited amount of time after pouring the milk before the bowl becomes a gelatinous goo unfit for human consumption. So the Frosted Flakes are doused, I sit down to enjoy them, and who shows up the ruin it for me? The fricking dog! Apparently all the boys in the house have been too busy interrupting my shower to take her outside! So she sits down in front of me and starts barking. I feel for her, I really do. It sucks to have to pee and not be able to! I know! But seriously! There are currently 5 other people in this house capable of taking you outside, why do you single out the one with a fresh bowl of Frosted Flakes? So I say "Listen, you little bitch, (see what I did there?) I deserve to eat my breakfast! I will take you out when I'm done!" And, guess what? It worked! She stopped barking and sat down beside me with her head on my foot. And after I finished, we went outside.
So I guess my whole question is, how can I get the boys in my house to be as thoughtful as the dog? No, really, I want to know! I need a boy Obedience School! Ah, the joys of motherhood!
