Showering In Peace: The Saturday Dream – Scary Mommy

Showering In Peace: The Saturday Dream

motherhood me time

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Sometimes I’m shocked and, to be honest, a bit fascinated by the amount of dirt and grime I’m willing to leave on my body and hair and still go out in public. There’s a good chance that what I’m wearing right now is exactly what I wore to bed and probably most of yesterday.

I haven’t always had such poor hygiene. At one time, I too enjoyed daily showers and fresh outfits. In fact, I can actually pinpoint the exact moment the upkeep of my personal appearance took a severe nosedive. Let me see…oh yes, when I had children. Motherhood will do that to you.

Admittedly, things have improved slightly now that my kids are 4 and 6. But now, my showering rituals are minimal: Just get in, clean all your pink parts, and get the grease out of your hair.

Shaving above the knee? No. Not happening.

Landscaping your girly bits? Who are you kidding?

I’ve laid down a decree in this house that I am taking back my shower at least one day a week, and from this day forth during my “Saturday Shower”unless someone is bleeding, no one may enter my sanctuary.

Every Saturday Shower starts with the same forewarning to the tiny humans and their father: “Family,” I tell them, “Mommy is going to get a shower. No one is allowed in my bathroom during this time. Just stay here with your father. Better, yet, don’t leave this floor of the house, okay?”

They all nod in agreement, and I shoot a stern look at my husband to really solidify the point. In no uncertain terms, this look means “Keep them out of the bathroom until I come back or I’m coming after you, pal.”

And just like that, I’m off! I’m giddy and almost trip running up the stairs for my Saturday Shower. Dancing into the bathroom I blast the Billy Joel station on Pandora and sing along with my favorite Piano Man.

“A bottle of white…”

“A bottle of red…”

Yes, Billy, perhaps a bottle of rose instead…

Cranking the temperature of the water to near scalding (it takes a lot to get rid of that Mom-grime, am I right?), I examine the assortment of shower products that have sadly collected soap scum during the week due to lack of use. Pink body scrubs, girly smelling shower gels, and fluffy loofahs, I give them all a little wink. Hello, friends, good to see you again.

This is the Saturday Shower and I will use every single one. In fact, shampoo and conditioner, I will even wash, rinse and repeat.

Over my shoulder, I give a little wave to the assortment of lotions and makeup I will luxuriously apply once the glorious and beloved shower is over. When I’ve used every drop of hot water in this shower, I’m going to primp and polish in peace. And when I walk down the stairs to present myself, I want to hear music playing, maybe “Pretty Woman” or that song from the end of Sixteen Candles.

Then my perfect little Saturday Shower bubble is burst when my kid infiltrates my sanctuary.

“Hey, Mommy!”

“Hey, buddy. What are you doing here? Where’s your dad?”

“I dunno.”

“Well, Mommy is taking a shower so…privacy please…”

“I’m just gonna go potty.”

“Well, we have three other potties in the house. Go use one of those. Where did you say your dad was?”

“Nope, I’ll just use this one.”

And before I could chase him out, the kid dropped trou. When he didn’t lift the seat, I knew what sort of “business” he intended to do.

I tried my best to ignore him, kept on singing, and hoped he would just wrap up his “business” and get out quickly. But the kid added insult to injury when the steamy bathroom no longer smelled of vanilla sugar body scrub, but instead of my gross kid.

I turned up my nose from the offensive smell and let out a yelp when he flushed the potty and froze me out.

Finally, I whimpered in defeat when he swiped my phone off the counter, switched off my tunes, and exited the bathroom playing a game on my phone.

A little lightheaded from the smell, cold and music-lessness, my Saturday Shower was a complete bust.

My kids ruin a lot of things: my Saturday Shower, my flat stomach, my ability to run up the stairs without peeing myself. While I can’t fix most of these ruined things, I can lock the door next Saturday and run the dishwasher and washing machine as soon as my husband gets in the shower on Monday morning.