I spend a lot of time in the bathroom. You would, too, if it had a lock and you had four kids. Most of the time I sit on the counter and prop my feet up against the opposite wall. It’s quite comfy.
“Mama, what are you doing in there?”
“Oh, you know…
(Reading a good book I can’t put down.
Reading a terrible book I can’t put down.
Writing a blog post.
Reading a blog post.
Working on a deadline.
Updating Facebook, twitter, instagram.
Eating leftover takeout I don’t want to share.
Eating chocolate in peace.
Taking deep breaths- Aummmm…..)
…just going to the bathroom.”
“Why can’t I see your feet?”
“I don’t know. That’s weird.”
“Well, when are you coming out?”
“In a few minutes. Why don’t you go play and I’ll come to you when I’m done.”
“Can you see me, mama. Can you see my hands.”
“How about now?”
“What about now?”
(Are all bathroom doors this short?!)
Whether I’m actually using the bathroom or not, this is my reality.
They slip drawings under the door, ask me where their favorite toy is, tell me stories, tell me they’re hungry, and tell me they love me. Now that’s the kind of potty talk I can put up with.