Where do you go when you need thinking time?
I always take myself off to the bathroom. I like to lie in hot, fragrant water. I find it a soothing experience and even though sometimes I may have something to cry about the very process is a cathartic, healing experience. I often put a flannel over my face and muse about whatever is troubling me, hoping to find that elusive solution.
When you have a family the bathroom is the only place where there’s some real privacy and solitude although it may still frequently be disrupted by the needs of small children. In the past I’ve had the boys banging on the door with demands ranging from an urgent call of nature to settling a dispute over the Xbox. It can be quite frustrating at times to get out off the bath, dripping wet and cold, in order to resolve arguments or to find a missing football boot.
Fortunately, as the boys grow older, I can now usually reslove most issues verbally ( ie shouting) but, even more luckily, they’ve moved into that phase where the idea of kissing or even looking at a woman’s body in the bath is a totally hideous concept. Whereas most blokes would pay to see Jennifer Aniston kissing or bathing on film they have their eyes covered, omitting cries of UGhhhhhhh! That’s disssssssssssgusting! I am never going to get married! It’s bit like that with me in the bathroom – only there’s more of me. If you know what I mean.
So, I ‘m safe in the bathroom once more. Hurrah! And now that my three elderly cats have also passed on I also don’t have the habitual clawing at the door and untimely deposits of a odious nature in the cat litter. Again, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! Of course, I do have my new pussy, Mr Bond, who would probably pay good money to see me starkers but luckily he has a door phobia and is still content to dump on the neighbours’ gardens.
( Um…He also has a phobia about tin foil…. Why? Your guess is as good as mine. But I may have to put him forward for pet counselling if I discover any more problems.)
Anyway, so yesterday, I needed to reflect on my writing and took myself off to the bath for a good wallow…
I’m lying back, relaxing. Musing over the events of recent days, I decide to put a flannel on my face with a squirt of my favourite grapefruit soap. So I duly squirt a drop on my flannel…I notice the soap looks a little more watery than normal. Nothing usual there… the boys are often topping up bottles with water and playing battleships or whatever. So I put on another squirt so I can still smell the fragrance and…
Just as I’m about to put the flannel on my face I notice a strange smell.
Rather like ammonia.
Could it be? Surely not? Have they really?
I pick up the bottle and raise it to my nose….
Oh dear God! Why those no good little rotters…
Yep. One of the boys had tipped out the soap and filled it up with a nice little surprise gift for me.
How very thoughtful!
You know, things don’t get that much easier as your kids get older – the challenges are just different ones.
Hmm…I’ve had a thought. I think that ruining my therapy session requires some sort of payback. Now let me think…
I wonder where I put that cake decoration???
